


feral

by theroseofthereach



Series: lord, my soul to keep [2]
Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Biting, Choking, Damage to clothes and furniture, F/M, Hair-pulling, Name-Calling, Rough Sex, Spanking, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24651487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroseofthereach/pseuds/theroseofthereach
Summary: Max has been in a foul mood all day, so why has he sent one of his bodyguards to pick you up? He’s never asked to see you outside of work before.
Relationships: Maxwell Lord/Reader, Maxwell Lord/You
Series: lord, my soul to keep [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782325
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	feral

The sun has already set by the time you hear the knock at your front door. It had been a long day; Max had been in a foul mood from the moment he had stepped foot in the office. You had been relieved when he had left early, having spent most of the day simply trying to keep out of his way.

Yet when you had settled in for the evening, a bottle of wine opened and some mindless movie playing in the background, you found your thoughts straying back to him. Max Lord occupied more of your thoughts than you cared to admit to these days.

Even as you sat curled up on your couch, sipping your wine, you found your thoughts wandering back to Max, wondering what had set him in such a bad mood earlier. You had tried to catch yourself; he was your employer, first and foremost. It wasn’t your place to wonder about his moods, what troubles might be causing the furrow in his brow and the tension in his shoulders.

Of course, it wasn’t really your place to be fucking him either.

You couldn’t even pretend to yourself that you had known what you were doing, when you had finally slipped and crossed that line. You only knew that something deep and primal had been sparked within you, a hunger that demanded to be satiated no matter what the cost.

The knock at the door came while you were still deep in thought, a staccato rap that startles you into alertness. A brief glance at the clock informed you of the late hour, and you rolled your eyes, half expecting it to be the cantankerous old lady who lived next door complaining of the sound of your television.

Something about the lateness of the hour made you glance through the peephole. To your surprise, it was not Mrs. Thomas ready to scold you over the noise of a movie that was barely audible as it was. Instead, you were greeted by the sight of one of Max’s guards, the younger one of the two he usually had on his day shift.

Another knock on the door made you jump again. You had no idea what he could possibly be at your apartment for, especially at this hour. Max had sent things to your home before, but they always came by courier; what could be so precious that he would have sent one of his bodyguards to watch over it?

Your fingers fumble with the chain on your door as you hurry to unlock it, not wanting to keep the guard waiting.

“Good evening, miss.” He says as you swing the door open, standing with his arms folded behind his back, the rigid posture of a former soldier. It doesn’t appear as though he’s carrying anything, and you find yourself wondering again why he is at your door at this late hour.

“Evening. Is everything alright?” You ask, keeping one hand on your door. To your surprise, the guard seems a little uncomfortable, swallowing thickly as though the words are sticking in his throat. You see him almost every day, yet you’ve never seen him anything other than professionally stoic before.

“Mr. Lord would like to see you.” He manages. For a moment, you think you’ve misheard him somehow. Max has never sent for you outside of work, has never expressed any interest in seeing you outside of the office, or occasionally his car.

“He wants to see me?” The question even sounds odd as you ask it. You try not to let the idea run away with you. It was more likely that he had misplaced something urgent at the office, some contract that needed signing or an invitation to an event that night, than he wanted you for anything else.

“Mr. Lord asked me to bring you to him right away.” The guard replies stiffly.

“Can you give me a moment to change?” You slip back into your apartment before he can answer. As much as you don’t want to worsen Max’s mood by keeping him waiting, there is no way you’ll go to him in your pyjamas.

You redress quickly, pulling on a pretty button up dress for ease. The summer is on its way out, but the nights are still warm enough that you can get away without stockings or a jacket. Something tells you that neither the guard nor Max would be patient enough to allow you the time to redo your makeup, so you settle for touching it up. In your hurry to leave, you knock over a chair, sending it clattering to the floor as you grab your purse from where you had dropped it earlier.

The guard appears to have barely moved when you emerge ten minutes later, his arms still folded behind his back as he stands sentinel outside your door. He doesn’t say anything as you lock the door or make your way downstairs. His silence surprises you; usually the guards don’t mind talking to you, especially if Max isn’t around.

It doesn’t surprise you to see a sleek town car idling outside your building. Max never liked you taking taxis, especially if you were running an errand for him. Yet when the guard goes to open the door of the car for you, you nearly stumble off the curb.

The guard’s knuckles are red and split, barely dried blood crusted over the bone. The sight makes you stop in your tracks, hovering beside the open car door. Your eyes linger for a second too long on the cuts, and you have to hope that the guard hasn’t caught you looking.

Once you’ve slid into the backseat, your mind returns to those bruised and bloodied knuckles. Had someone tried to harm Max, and had come off the worse for it? You had never really seen the guards in action, except to discourage overeager paparazzi at events from time to time.

It makes you wonder what sort of a mood you’re going to find Max in. Would it have worsened his already-awful temper? A little anger from Max can be thrilling, but you’ve never experienced him truly furious before.

You keep a close eye on your route as you’re driven through the city, hoping to glean some sort of idea about why Max has asked for you. As tempting as it is to hope that he’s asked to see you for something more intimate, it’s entirely possible he’s misplaced something urgent at the office. 

Certainly it seems to be the more likely option. He could have any woman he desired if all he wanted was company; if he wanted something at the office, he would have to call you.

Yet some small part of you can’t help but hope that he _wants_ you. As much as you might try and tell yourself not to get in over your head, some small spark of yearning deep within you wants to lose yourself in Max again, no matter what mood he’s in. When you realise that the car isn’t headed towards the office, that small spark flares a little larger.

The car finally halts outside a looming art deco building, and you realise when you step out that Max has summoned you to the Roark Hotel. You’ve been here before; Max has hosted business lunches in the private dining room once or twice, and you’ve always been the one sent to make sure everything is perfect.

It’s cool and quiet in the lobby; the only noise comes from your heels clicking on the marble floor and the hubbub of dinner and drinks coming from the direction of the restaurant. For half a moment, you expect the guard guiding you to direct you towards the noise, the familiar sounds of the hustle and bustle of people.

Even the idea that Max wants more than stolen moments in his office or his car feels foreign and unexpected. Max only really exists to you in those stolen moments. At all other times, he’s Mr. Lord. He’s not much more than a stranger; your boss, your employer. You can’t even imagine his home life, or what he does outside of the office, he’s such a stranger to you.

And yet when the guard ushers you through the lobby towards the bank of elevators, you can’t help the nervous fluttering of your heart. You don’t want him to be a stranger; you want _him_ ; to have more than stolen moments bent over his desk or pressed against the seats of his car.

The elevator is silent as it carries you more than thirty stories upwards. As soon as the doors slide open again, you catch sight of the older of the two guards standing sentry further down the hall. Like the guard who has been escorting you, the older guard is unusually silent. You get nothing more than a stiff-necked nod from him in greeting as he swings the hotel room door open for you.

You step into the suite, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The overhead lights have been left off, leaving the rooms lit only by lamplight and making the large, luxurious space feel more intimate. Stepping around the door, you attempt to peer further into the dimly lit rooms. It startles you when you see Max waiting for you just beyond the threshold.

It startles you even more when he grasps the nape of your neck and kisses you, crowding you back until you fall heavily against the door. It slams shut behind you as you fall against it, though you barely notice the noise. You’re too consumed with Max, the way his fingers are pressing against your neck, the faint taste of wine on his mouth, the feeling of some sort of taboo being broken by something as innocuous as a kiss.

Has Max ever kissed you before? Certainly he’s never kissed you like this before. Like it’s not just an excuse to nip at your lower lip, or push his tongue into your mouth, but a real _kiss_. You’re not quite sure what to make of it, your mind rendered hazier when he presses one of his thighs between your legs and rocks into you.

You practically whine when he breaks the kiss, reflexively attempting to recapture his mouth with your own for half a moment before you remember who you are with. Max smirks at you, hovering so close to you that your noses are practically touching. His eyes, rich and dark and deep, search your face for a moment while his fingers trail along your throat.

As suddenly as he’d kissed you, you find yourself being pulled away from the door. Max uses the hand he has around your neck to move you, and you know that you shouldn’t find the gesture as attractive as you do. With his free hand, he opens the door just wide enough to be able to lean his head out.

“Unless the building catches fire, I don’t want to be disturbed.” He informs the guards, and moves to duck back inside the room. Another instruction seemingly occurs to him, and he pauses on the threshold, his hand still loosely around your throat.

“And if you hear screams, don’t be alarmed. I’ll be fine.” If it were anyone else saying it, you’d want to smack them for being so smug. Coming from Max, it just makes your heart hammer faster against your ribs.

“Screams?” You dare to ask once Max has closed the door again. You try to make it sound nonchalant, but the crack in your voice makes Max chuckle darkly. 

“Screams.” He confirms, his fingers catching a fold of your dress as he presses you against the door. His thigh slips back between your legs, giving just the barest hint of pressure against your centre. “Sobs.” Max adds, his hands moving up your sides to catch at your collar, moving the fabric aside so he can see more of your skin. His mouth glides along your jaw, until his soft lips are close enough to brush against your ear. “Slaps too, if you can’t behave.” 

A shiver slips down your spine, arousal coiling even tighter in your core. You’re nearly tempted to risk whatever punishment he’d dole out to grind down against his thigh, you’re so desperate for some sort of relief. Before you can decide, a sharp ripping sound fills your ears. Max seizes the collar of your dress and _pulls_. Buttons bounce across the carpet as he tugs at the fabric, until it hangs in tattered halves from your shoulders. 

It makes your blood practically sing as your pulse pounds in your ears, adrenaline and arousal making you clumsy as you try and shrug the remains of your dress off. Before you’ve even freed your arms from your dress, Max is on you again. His mouth ghosts along your neck, sharp nose bumping against your jaw as he finds the perfect place to bite you. You finally shake the ruined dress off, letting it crumple on the floor as Max drags his teeth against your sensitive skin. 

While he roams your neck with his mouth, his fingers find their way to your underwear, pulling and tugging at the delicate silk pieces until you hear stitches popping. It’s all you can do to kick your shoes away. The feeling of Max’s warm bulk pressing against you into the door, his hands roaming your body, and the scrape of his teeth on your neck makes you shudder. 

When Max leans back, you’re barely able to catch your breath. For one lingering moment, he seems content simply to look at you. The combination of his self-satisfied smirk and the way his eyes are glittering in the low light of the room gives him a predatory, leonine quality as he looms over you. For half a moment, you wonder if he might kiss you again. 

Without warning, Max ducks down and lifts you. You find yourself hauled off your feet and over Max’s shoulder. Months of him manhandling you around his office has taught you that he is surprisingly strong, but you never expected him to carry you. Yet he does, his arm resting against the backs of your legs as he carries you into the bedroom as though you weigh next to nothing. It’s so primitive, and you know that it shouldn’t excite you the way that it does. 

The bed creaks alarmingly when he drops you onto the mattress, but you wouldn’t care if it gave out underneath you. You’re too preoccupied with Max, the hungry way he’s looking at you sending arousal flooding through your veins. 

“I should really fuck you in beds more often.” Max tells you nonchalantly, stripping off his blazer and tie. “You look so good like this, all laid out for me.” The praise alone would have been enough to make your heart flutter, but you can’t help but seize on the idea that this will not be a one off. As quickly as the idea hits you, you fight to dismiss it. One encounter in a hotel does not mean that Max wants more from you, more than stolen hours in his office and his car. 

“I wouldn’t complain, sir.” You manage teasingly, forcing yourself to focus on him, on the way he looks as he stands in front of you. Your eyes drift to his hands as he rolls his shirtsleeves up, those big broad palms and thick fingers that you spend an indecent amount of time fantasizing about. It makes you jump when those broad hands close around your ankles, dragging you down the mattress and bringing you closer to him. 

“Spoiled little brat.” Max smirks wider. His blonde hair, usually pomaded to within an inch of its life, has started to fall across his forehead. If you were feeling more daring, you might reach out and touch it. The rolled up sleeves of his shirt show off tanned forearms, and his collarbones are visible thanks to his open collar. It’s probably the most you’ve ever seen of him, of his body. How absurd, when you’ve been fucking him for months. 

Max doesn’t give you time to wallow in your thoughts. With the grip around your ankles, he pulls your legs open. You can’t help the hiss that escapes you when the cool air hits your exposed core; Max hasn’t even really touched you, but you’re already soaked. His fingers slide up your calves, catching the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up. 

“Look at you.” Max murmurs, holding your thighs so that your knees are practically pressed against your shoulders. “Always so ready for me, aren’t you? Such a good little slut.” His fingers trail briefly down the backs of your thighs, before giving you a harsh smack. His palm comes down over an old bruise, and you arch your back at the heady twist of pleasure and pain.

“Mm, thank you.” You gasp out. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat and catches your jaw in his hand, forcing you to meet his gaze. He’s impatient, despite his improved mood from earlier, in no mood to tease or drag out some painstaking punishment. 

“I want your hands up against the headboard. You move them, you’ll regret it.” The fingers at your jaw give a little squeeze before letting go to undo his trousers. You do as he says, bracing your palms against the elaborately carved wood. 

Max crushes into you with one swift movement, the sudden stretch of him making you sob and squirm underneath him. Your fingers slip against the headboard as you try to steady yourself, try as best as you can to push yourself down further on Max. 

You don’t know how you could ever bear to give this up. He fills you so perfectly, his broad hands pushing down on your thighs as he bends you in half. You hope his grip leaves bruises. You want them so badly, for Max to press himself under your skin and into your veins. 

“Fuck, you feel even tighter like this.” Max growls out, his hair falling freely into his eyes as he sets a brutal pace. It takes all of your self control to keep your hands steady, not to grab him by his shoulders and pull him further into you. The position he’s holding you in allows you almost no movement; you can only lie there and take him as best as you can. 

Your breath escapes you in little, juddering sobs. You feel utterly drunk on Max, arousal scorching through your veins like wildfire. His eyes rake down you, drinking in the sight of you underneath him. His fingers squeeze at your thighs as he builds a relentless rhythm, the sound of your blood roaring in your ears almost enough to drown out the sound of his skin meeting yours. 

Part of you wishes you were allowed to move your hands. You want to touch him, to reach out and drag your nails down his back, to claw at him until you break the skin and brand yourself on him in the same way that he makes his marks on you. 

But you can’t, unwilling to risk whatever punishment you would get for disobeying a direct order. It’s not worth the chance that he might stop. That he might kick you out and send you home, unsatiated. Not when you can feel the beginnings of an orgasm coiling in your middle. 

“Can I- Will you let me come, sir? Please? I’ll be so good for you, such a good girl, just _please-_ ” You beg incoherently, your fingers slipping against the wood of the headboard. It feels as though electricity is sizzling beneath your skin, and you hope desperately that Max is feeling indulgent. 

“Yes. I want to feel you come around me, grip me even tighter, fuck-” Max grunts, one of his hands slipping from your thigh to curl around your neck. The brush of his fingertips against the delicate skin above your veins only brings you closer, and you squeeze your eyes shut against the blinding pleasure that’s tearing through you. 

A sharp cry rips its way free of your throat as you come. You can feel tears seep out from beneath your eyelashes as you shatter around Max, helpless to do anything other than lie there and submit to the pleasure, to _him_. The idea alone is almost enough to push you over the edge again, to send you toppling into another orgasm. 

“So pretty when you cry. Perfect, filthy little thing.” He rasps, a choked sound escaping from low in his throat as you bear down on him. Your whole body tenses, all of your muscles taut and straining as Max fucks you through your orgasm, waves of pleasure rolling over you until you fear you might drown in it. It’s almost unbearable, and your eyes ache from how tightly you’re squeezing them closed. 

It only seems to spur Max on. He puts more of his weight into his thrusts, fucking you further into the mattress until you can hear the bedframe thudding. Your world shrinks to the size of the hotel suite, to the bed, to the two of you tangled together. 

His hands press against the backs of your knees and push down until they touch your shoulders. The shift lets the head of his cock shred up against something _exquisite_ inside of you, pleasure coiling so tightly in your belly it makes your skin feel too small for your body. 

It’s enough to fulfil Max’s wish from earlier; you scream when you can gather enough breath, when he isn’t stealing the air from your lungs with the force of his thrusts. Your vision is blurred when you finally open your eyes again; Max is watching you intently, his pupils so dilated that you can’t see the brown for the black. 

Low, rumbling groans are spilling from Max’s throat, almost his full weight bearing down on you and forcing more sharp little screams out of you. Everything aches, and it’s so overwhelming, and you can feel another orgasm coiling tighter and tighter-

It’s then that you hear the wood splintering. 

Your pleasured cry turns into a shriek as you feel the bed give way, the mattress sagging underneath you as you hear more slats snapping. You forget your promise to Max, hands darting towards his shoulders and twisting into the fabric of his shirt as you try and steady yourself. 

The bedframe giving way beneath you doesn’t seem to bother Max as much as you moving your hands. With a sound like a snarl, he shoves them back above your head. 

“What did I say?” He snaps, the collapsing bed barely checking his pace as he carries on pounding into you. “I told you to keep still.” More of his weight comes to rest on you, the familiar weight and warmth of him almost enough to make you forget the ache in your thighs and the sheer need burning in the pit of your stomach.

He lets your calves rest against his shoulders as he yanks your hair back to nip at your neck. You’re so lost in the feeling of his teeth dragging against your throat that it takes you a second to hear the knocking. 

“Shut up for a second.” Max doesn’t give you a chance to obey; he simply covers your mouth with his hand even as he carries on fucking you. 

“I said, is everything alright sir? We heard...something break.” The guard calls through the door, though you can barely hear it, you’re so focused on the drag of Max’s cock against that spot that makes your vision whiten. 

“It’s nothing!” Max shouts back, not taking his eyes off you for a moment. His hand slides down and grips your neck, pressing just hard enough to make your breath catch. It’s not long before you’re hurtling over the edge again, dragging Max with you until the two of you are nothing more than a shaky tangle of limbs curled around one another. His breath is hot against your ear as he groans, coming as deeply inside of you as he can manage. 

It takes more than a moment for either of you to catch your breath. Max buries his head in the crook of your neck and mouths at the marks there even as he starts to soften inside you. A soft chuckle escapes him, the sound vibrating against your tender skin and taking you by surprise. 

“You made me break a bed.” He murmurs, pulling out of you with a low groan and lying down next to you. The sudden emptiness and lack of weight pinning you in place feels strange, and you wince as you let your legs fall against the bed. 

“So I did. Oops.” You sound drunk; you _feel_ drunk, dizzy and sleepy and content. If Max were any other lover, you might let yourself drift off to sleep. Instead, you’re intensely aware of him lying beside you, half expecting him to tell you to leave at any moment, and half expecting him to want another round. 

The mattress is sagging comically in the middle, but it's still incredibly comfortable, especially given the ache starting to make itself known in your legs. 

You don’t look up when you feel Max get off the bed; you don’t think you’ve ever been this relaxed in his company, and you want to draw the moment out for as long as you possibly can. You’re in so deeply over your head, but you can’t bring yourself to care tonight. 

Fucking your boss might be a cardinal sin, but it’s one you’ll never repent. You hear doors open and close, and eventually a faint murmur of conversation, but you’re too blissfully worn out to care. 

Only when you feel eyes on you do you look up. Max is standing at the foot of the bed, sipping from a glass of red wine as he looks at you. That half-feral smirk of his curls around his lips, and you almost hate it for how much of an effect it has on you. After a heady pause, he drains the glass and sets it down.

“Get dressed. We’re moving rooms.” Max sits on the end of the bed as he pulls his socks and shoes back on. You don’t entirely register what he has said at first. You’re still lying on the sagging mattress, tentatively stretching out your legs and wincing at the burn in your thighs. When you realise this means that the night isn’t over, you try to sit up, only to regret it instantly and flop back down. 

“Max, I can’t. You tore my dress, and my legs hurt.” 

“Oh, you poor thing. Am I going to have to ask one of the guards to carry you?” He coos in a faux-sympathetic tone. “Get up. You made me break a bed; I feel like you’ve earned those slaps I promised you earlier.” His fingers curl tightly around your ankles and he drags you down the bed until you’re almost nose to nose with him. “Or do you think you deserve a harsher punishment than a spanking?” 

It’s not long before you find yourself trailing behind Max, wearing nothing but a hotel bathrobe as you move rooms. Your whole body aches, and you’re not certain you’ll be able to walk tomorrow, but you never want the night to end.


End file.
